Dawn says:

At the 6 month mark I wrote a post on my old blog. It’s amazing to see how differently I feel in some areas and how I still feel the same in others.

At the 6 month mark I was struggling to find my place here. I feel very settled now. I’m also more relaxed than I have ever been in my life. Probably happier too. I have a great group of friends whom I can turn to and also have a great time with. Although, a long time friend knows your shit and you know theirs (I’m going to stop writing for a bit and call E now- damm she wasn’t there) and of course you know their best points and they yours.

At 6 months the weather was really kicking my butt. But now I really appreciate it (I actually own summer clothes as well as winter clothes now). My daughter and I talk about the seasons all the time. It’s apart of our life. You live dramatically different from the winter and the summer. The northwest is just the same ALL the time.

Some Seattle friends came to visit and they were talking about how they would miss the excitement of Seattle and then a MAJOR thunderstorm rolled threw. I was outside running around looking at the sky as it approached and they were not interested. Two very different kinds of excitement.

The beauty of the Northwest I still really miss. The lush green everywhere, the tall evergreens and flowers most times of the year. I miss the shows, and things like the aquarium but I can get on a train and go to Chicago or drive 2 1/2 hours to St. Louis or drive 4 hours to KC.

I thought I was very cool living in Seattle. Feeling so, “in the know”. It is a lot of ego. How much do I miss being part of a city because of the persona it gave me? Who will I be without that part? I’m very interested in letting go of all that and seeing what I am left with and seeing then if I will miss being part of a big city.

I think that will be the second year in Fairfield.

Willi says:

I arrived in Fairfield a year ago, and for the first 5 weeks I lived in and worked in the kitchen of our new house, with three cats, while the rest of the house was being renovated. My wife and daughter stayed at my mother-in-law’s home in Keokuk during that period of time.

With one exception, every friend I left in Seattle thought I was crazy for either quitting my job at Disney or moving to a small mid-western town they never heard of, or both. In fact I think most of my friends mentally blocked out (or just didn’t care to know) most of what I told them about my relocation because even after a year, many of them still ask me, “how are things going in Ohio“.

Ohio, Iowa, whatever.

So to answer the question they meant to ask, here’s how things are going in Iowa.

The Cost of Living - I cannot stress enough how wonderful it is to be free of the shackles of the Seattle housing market. However, while housing is relatively cheap here, food and services are not. Especially items that are part of the green movement - in some cases they cost more than their equivalent back in Seattle.

School - My daughter is enrolled in a small Waldorf Preschool. Not only has it been an incredible experience for her so far, but it has introduced Dawn and I to a great group of liked minded parents and people that we now call friends.

People - Generally speaking, the people in this town are friendly and down to earth. Which has been a tremendously refreshing experience for me. Not only is it nice to be around down to earth, neighborly “folks” for the simple fact that it’s pleasant, but I find myself also wanting - and trying - to slow down and be more down to earth myself.

ScribeStorm - The opportunity to start and run a small development office could not have happened in Seattle due to cost and lack of talent. I would never have been able to find (and afford) the developers I work with at ScribeStorm. While the stress of being a partner in a startup has taken it’s toll on me, the reward of working with some great people has kept me going.

Commute - It’s now news that commuting sucks. But I never even dreamed of the commute I have now.

The Movement - The Maharishi crowd as a whole is both the best and worst thing about Fairfield. On one hand, I’m certain that without them around, Fairfield would be unlivable for me. It’d be like most other Midwestern small towns (enough said).

On other hand, the Maharishi movement has attracted and produced some of the most annoying people I have ever met. The thing I was most afraid of when moving to Fairfield was ignorant meat heads, aka rednecks. However, rednecks have not been a problem around town, but rather pretentious insane people, aka hardcore Maharishi followers (note I do realize this is a small percentage of the movement, or at least I hope it is).

For example, in the past year I’ve had not one, but two meditators come into my office and tell me that I needed to move my desk so that it faces East. I’ve also had meditators who are running small startups come in and give me presentations on technology that is already in existence (ie Google), yet they deny anyone else has come up with this concept.

Bugs - Everyone warned me of the heat and cold in Iowa. I have not been bothered by the weather. Drastic changes in the seasons is still a novelty to me. In fact Dawn and I actually fight over who gets to shovel the snow from the driveway. However what is to be feared out here is the bugs. From Spring through Fall the bugs are horrible. We had weeks were we’d wake up everyday with dozens of bites unlike anything we’ve ever seen.

Big Ag - Everyone needs to come out to Iowa for a week and see how food is grown in America. It’s sickening. I don’t know where the Organic food movement started but it should end here in Iowa, with corporate agriculture turned upside down. In Seattle it was the Salmon, and here it’s pork, corn and other crops. Having this perspective on how our food chains are being ruined (if not already unsavable) from coast to the heartland, has left me mystified as to why food isn’t the biggest topic in the current election, if not second to the war in Iraq.

Change - There’s a lot I miss. Friends, mountains and Asian cuisine mostly. The change of moving to a small town has been a dramatic culture shock, but a very welcome and positive one. I get IMs and emails all the time from friends and acquaintances in Seattle saying, “I still cannot believe you’re in Ohio.” I really don’t have a response. I expect to be wanting to get back to Seattle as soon as possible, but I don’t feel that right now.

It’s pleasant here in Fairfield. And I’m looking forward to a slower 2008.

Dawn and I just finished Caucusing. Our precinct had nearly 300 people packed into a small elementary school gymnasium.

It was clear very quickly that Obama had the largest group and the majority if you went by what stickers everyone was wearing.

Round 1: there were signs for each candidate taped throughout the gymnasium walls, and “caucusers” were asked to go stand by their candidate and be counted. The Obama group was so large that they had to move the Biden and Richardson groups to other areas. Dawn and I stood with one other person for Dodd (yes that’s 3 people out of 300).

It was explained that you needed something like 44 people to make a group viable. It was clear that we weren’t going to convince 41 other caucusers to join Dodd. In fact the Obama crowd was so large that it partially blocked us and so before the count we left Dodd. Dawn went to Obama and I went to Edwards.

At the end of the first round only Obama and Edwards were viable. I was shocked, and happy, that Hillary was not viable.

Round 2: It was explained again you had to make 44 to be viable, and that if your group was not at 44 you needed to convince more people to join or go join a viable group. And this is were the trouble started and I put myself right in the middle of it.

Hillary’s precinct captain came over to the Edwards group and started telling us that our “extra” people should come over to Hillary’s group so that they would be viable. The problem with that logic, and what she failed to point out, is that by making Hillary viable, and getting her one delegate, we would most likely lose one of our delegates.

I stepped in between Hillary’s precinct captain and the group of women she was speaking to and said, “we don’t have any extras, we need our delegates”. The women all nodded saying they would not go over to support Hillary. The precinct captain scowled at me and told me I was being “un-neighborly”. She said that in Iowa that’s what neighbors do. She seemed very angry with me.

Granted she was upset that her candidate, someone I imagine she’s work hard to get to this point, was not going to get a delegate. However I was a bit shocked by her tactic. Rather than talk about issues (note that you get 30 minutes to try to sway people between groups) she was being misleading about how the counting works. And this is exactly the route that Hillary’s other supporters took. Eventually it worked - by playing the victim they got about 4 people to leave Edwards for Hillary.

What was also frustrating about this situation is that there was no loud and clear leadership in the Edwards group to inform their people of the fallacy being spread by the Hillary camp, and therefore hang onto our “extra” people.
At this point I actually considered if the behaviors of our two groups were signs of how Edwards and Hillary would act as Presidents. And I looked over at the Obama camp and could not help but notice how calm, collected, confident and unwavering they were. Hmmmm.

Time was up and the caucusers were counted. Hillary had less than 44 and was therefore not viable. Obama had enough to earn him 5 delegates and Edwards 3.

And then the confusion started. Having been declared not viable, Hillary (and Richardson) caucusers left to join Edwards and Obama as well as the newly emerging candidate “Home”. Half way through the third count someone pointed out, and I think it was the Hillary precinct captain, that there was only 2 rounds. This greatly annoyed the people who stood with Hillary since it meant they weren’t counted.

Final tally:

• Obama 5
• Edwards 3

Overall it was an interesting process, however I was disappointed at the lack of any debating or discussion of the issues. Most people showed up clearly with a choice in mind and only changed their minds due to either emotional tactics or realization that they would not be counted if they didn’t switch. I feel like a lot of people didn’t understand how it was supposed to work.

The entire event did validate my opinion of Hillary though - she is not electable. There was serious tension anytime Hillary supporters came over to “recruit” from another group.

For months I’ve been resisting updating my car plates and drivers license: I enjoyed discussing Washington, Seattle, Bainbridge Island or the San Juan Islands with whomever was loading groceries into my car at Everybody’s. I also loved the random comments from strangers as I exited my car, “I lived in Seattle 20 years ago! Where are you from?!” It gave me the feeling that I was unique or dare I say, special.

Recently, in a yummy and hip Asian fusion restaurant in LA my family and I were asked where we were from. We said Iowa. At first I felt a twinge of embarrassment that accompany many small towners. Like somehow we don’t know good restaurants as well, or interesting art, or fun places to hang out. And while it is true that I don’t have the inside scoop on the new fun places to go in Seattle or any other city now; I do still have a lively palette, keen eye and spontaneous spirit. There is plenty to add to the world from this vantage point! The manager smiled genuinely, almost like she was comforted by our being from Iowa. “Well”, I thought, “there is nothing wrong with the stereotype that we are good nice people.” That can’t hurt.

It was time to make the change. And so after 10 months of driving our Volkswagen TDI around with Washington State plates, we finally replaced them with Iowa plates.

And besides, my novelty had worn off. There is only so many times that the Everybody’s staff can comment on Washington state: even if they have a daughter living there or have a house on the island. And I think that everyone in town who has a Washington Sate connection has talked to me by now. I haven’t been “outed” as a Washingtonian for over two months now!

Everyone warned me about how insufferable the summers would be out here in Iowa. It does get hot here, and the humidity is so high that even when it’s not raining you cannot stay dry. And normally that would be enough to make me whine about it on an hourly basis. But I’m not.

The reason is because of my most awesome commute. I leave the house at around 8:45am dressed in flip-flops, jeans and a t-shirt. I get on my bike and ride on flat streets a distance of exactly ten blocks to my office - it’s a nice, leisurely ride in 7th gear with my own movement creating a nice refreshing breeze. Green trees, lots of birds and squirrels and quiet streets - expect for the occasional inconsiderate SUV driver - it’s a joy.

Once at my office I’ve got AC or fan or window to keep me cool depending on the conditions of the day. I walk one or two blocks to lunch, which is just enough time in the heat to enjoy it. Going home, I can leave whenever I want: no bus or ferry schedule to catch, and no commuter traffic or baseball game schedule to avoid.

Now let’s look at my commute last Summer.

I would leave the house at 8am and walk to the end of my street to catch a short bus. The trek ahead required trail shoes and a backpack stuffed with a rain coat and enough spare room to hold the fleece jacket I’d need to remove after the chilly ride on the ferry boat. The bus would arrive between 8:05 and 8:15, taking me on a tour of east Bainbridge Island to pick up 0-2 additional passengers and drop us off at the ferry terminal at around 8:30. What is normally a 5 minute trip, the bus turned into a 30 minute plus exercise in patience.

I would then stand in line until the ferry arrived at 8:45 (on schedule 70%) or sometime before lunch (not on schedule 30%). Like cattle, I would proceed onto the boat through an 8 foot wide gangway and fight for prime seating. About 5-10 minutes later the ferry would depart and take 35 to 45 minutes to reach Seattle. Then another 5 minutes spent disembarking (like cattle).

The walk to my office was approximately 7 blocks, with numerous traffic lights to block my progress. Once at the Smith Tower, I would wait anywhere from 0-5 minutes for an elevator. After checking email, I’d start deciding where to eat lunch.

Around quitting time I’d have to watch the clock and leave with enough time to make a ferry boat departure (one leaving about every hour). The departures were rarely on time and often over 15 minutes late. Sometimes, if I was really unlucky, Homeland Security would stop some idiot with fireworks and close down the ferry terminal for hours.

The commute score:

• Seattle - 90+ minutes
• Fairfield - 5 minutes

Ok, so the old commute did have it’s upsides. Orca whales, porpoises and mountains in view from the ferry boat, and the crossing time was passed gabbing with my commute buddies. But that’s about it. No flip flops, no 5 minute commute, no leave when you want, no quiet and leisurely bike ride.

I finally met my Flickr friend (and Presidential candidate - duh) Obama tonight. Shook hands twice - before his speech and after. That’s a small town for you - at a big city rally I’d be lucky to get near him.

I’ll be honest, I decided to attend Barack Obama’s visit to the square Tuesday night primarily so that I could take photos and feed my Flickr addiction. I’ve been rooting for Edwards the past several months while hoping Gore’s announcement is just around the corner. Imaging that once Gore announced, a Gore-Clinton ticket would form to take back the White House. Obama was nowhere on my radar in terms of being a realistic contender for the Presidency.

I arrived at the square, already crowded with citizens, security and photo journalists, about fifteen minutes before Obama. My camera lens led me into and around the crowd, snapping photos as well as scouting out positions for Obama’s speech. I happened to be standing at one of the many ropes strung around the square, checking my camera settings, when I heard a wave of cheering and applause roll through the crowd. I looked up and there he was, Barack Obama had suddenly arrived, eagerly shaking hands and talking to people as he slowly made his way to the gazebo.

I did what I had set out to do, and started taking photos. Through the lens, I started noticing that Obama wasn’t just shaking hands and making small talk. He was having a conversation with the town. He would stop and focus on an individual, and ask or answer a question with them. There was no rushing him to the stage. This was also the case when he left - if you did not shake hands with Barack Obama, then you did not want to shake hands with him - he took the time to meet everyone that showed up to hear him speak.

About five minutes into his speech, I completed my transformation from photographer to listener, and voter. I had written Obama off because I had convinced myself that this country is not capable of electing a black president. But listening to him, and seeing the intent with which a mostly white, small town American crowd listened to him, I said to myself, he’s right, this isn’t about race. It’s about restoring fundamental American principles through change. Which if you think about it, is a truly bipartisan message. It’s fighting terrorism and saving the environment at the same time.

This man can win if he somehow manages to speak live to a majority of the voting population. I wish the impact he had on me Tuesday night was something that could be translated through network TV or YouTube, but it hadn’t until I saw him in the flesh. He’s confident and you can tell he believes in his message and the goodness in people. What I saw that was most interesting Tuesday night on the square was something I have not seen in other candidates, whether it was Clinton (Bill), Bush or Kerry. It took me a while to nail it - he believes in himself.

Check out Obama’s Iowa tour on his Flickr site. I wonder how many other candidates will make it to Fairfield as part of the Iowa Caucus?

A few weeks ago while I was in Burbank, my business partner tossed me an issue of Wired magazine and said read the article on the “New Atheism”. Until reading this article I was not aware of an Atheist Movement, much less a New Atheist Movement. I mean I assume there are organized groups of atheists but I knew nothing more than that they probably existed.

While I have a recollection of believing in Santa, I have no recollection of ever believing in God. I think the first time I categorized myself as an atheist was at the age of 14 when I used a black permanent marker to scrawl the words ATHEIST on my surplus military jacket which was already crowded with skulls, anarchy symbols and the names of skate punk bands like “Butthole Surfers“. I’m sure people took my stance on God very seriously at the time.

In college, I spent many hours debating many things with many people. Nothing different here. I minored in Philosophy at Illinois State University and often found myself arguing in the middle of class, against the existence of God, usually alone in my opinion. I had few friends that would consider themselves an atheist, and fewer still that would publicly deny the existence of God.

Since college my atheism is not something I’ve advertised. It only comes up as an internal stuggle when I find myself in situations where a friend or family member involves me in their religion: like when my sister asked me to read a passage from the Bible at here Catholic wedding. Or when one my close friends starts off a Thanksgiving meal with a prayer.

In both of those cases, I’ve had the urge to opt out, but haven’t, for fear of alienating myself.

In this light, I found it interesting to read about the New Athiest Movement, and their claim that not only should an atheist announce their disbelief in God, but should also stop respecting other people’s belief in God. My first thought was that the New Atheist obviously doesn’t attend their sister’s wedding or have friend’s over for Thanksgiving. I understand their point, and I want to be that type of atheist, except it’s simply impractical. I would offend people I care about.

But the fact remains that I don’t understand why intelligent people, specifically intelligent people I know, believe in God. If it weren’t for them, it would be easy for me to speak as Sam Harris does in the Wired article:

At some point, there is going to be enough pressure that it is just going to be too embarrassing to believe in God.

I shared the Wired article with my wife. Afterwards she asked me if I believed what the New Atheists believed. I answered yes and to my surprise, we debated about that position, and how that conflicted with her own spirituality (which is not even associated with organized religion or a belief in a “God”). And that’s when I realized how far in the closet I have been since the time I took a black marker to an old army jacket.

Time to start coming out.

The Justin King Band came through Fairfield again last night. During the last show I was struck by how many people were sitting down the entire time, and so this time around I watched the show from the back where I assumed people were rocking out. This was not the case. I was the only one on my feet jamming for most of the show. The exception being a few songs when two other people got up on their feet.

I’m still getting to know this funky little town for sure, but my perception is that there’s no shortage of free spirited people here. So it doesn’t add up to see all these teens and college kids sitting in chairs while on stage band members are belting out riffs and beats that are begging for even your basic rock and roll concert moves: the head bob, hip sway or flat foot bounce for example.

The Justin King Band is no Pixies, but there were a couple songs were I wanted to kick the chair across the room and go Footloose. Granted that could be latent instincts from my high school days as a gymnast, but you get the point.

The most surreal moment was at the end of their last song (before the encore), the guitar players are jumping around laying out their instruments on the floor while the drummer climbs onto his set, and yet the audience . . . is sitting . . . in rows of chairs . . . not even a bobbing head can be seen. I need to give Kevin Bacon a call - he would set things right.

Warning: this series will end in bloodshed and psychotherapy, read with caution.

I have three cats, which is one cat too many (I will get to this point in part 2). Oweena, the old fluffy cat, is my wife’s. I’ve known my wife for nearly ten years and during that span of time I have frequently asked her about Oweena’s age. Each time the answer is the same, “Oweena is ten years old.” Oweena, my guess, is a hell of a lot older than ten. About four years ago, soon after we moved into our house on the Island, we adopted two 8 week old kittens that were brothers. PAWS had named them Amos and Andy; I re-named them Zero and Toro. Who wants a pre-named kitten? That’s half the reason to get a kitten, so you can name it.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago when I arrived at my new house in Fairfield. I brought the cats in after a long ass trip across the country in a car and opened their cages pet carriers. Oweena sauntered out and started looking for a bowl of food. Zero and Toro ran out so fast they seemed to teleport instantly down into the basement and I did not see them again until a couple days later when I went down into the basement armed with my Ryobi cordless flashlight. After about forty minutes of searching, which included coming back upstairs and looking through every cabinet and closet in every room several times. I finally spotted the two brothers out of blind luck. I happened to shine the light in the upper back corner of the basement and caught their four golden eyes peering out of a deep pocket in the floor joists. I reached them using a chair and herded them upstairs to make sure they got some food and water and then closed the door to the basement. You might judge me on this decision later.

While Zero and Toro were hiding in the basement, my wife and I were ripping up carpet throughout the house during the day, and staying at her mother’s house during the evening. When I got the cats upstairs, most of the carpet had been ripped up and was sitting in a big pile in the living room. The next day I came back to the house to check on the cats. Oweena was standing at her bowl in the kitchen. Zero and Toro were no where to be found. And so after checking that there was no way they could have gotten back into the basement, I again searched each cabinet and closet multiple times in search of them. It was about the fifth time that I walked past the living room and realized that the big pile of ripped up skanky carpeting would make an ideal hiding place for my two freaked out cats. After a quick search I found a roll of carpeting that had two golden eyes staring at me from somewhere in the middle.

The next two hours involves a scenario that I am sure at least one of my neighbors witnessed and is probably still trying to figure out what exactly in the name of god I was trying to accomplish. In order to get the cats out of the carpet and ensure that they stay out of the carpet I decided to take all 1300 square feet of nasty ass carpeting and dusty padding and put it outside on the back porch. This took some time and sweet but I was successful in getting the cats out of the carpet and the carpet out of the house. After I accomplished this task I noticed the screen door to the back porch was ajar. This immediately led to another lengthy search of all the cabinets and closets in the house. Zero was missing.

I did some swearing to myself; outloud in an empty, carpetless home, which echos profanity nicely. And I even considered for a moment that I didn’t really need three cats. The real issue of course is that my three year old daughter can count to ten and a life of constant shuffling of two cats around the house to convince her all three cats were safe and sound was impractical.

So I had Zero missing, obviously outside, burrowed into the carpet pile on the back deck. I could see no other option than going through the pile of carpet (again) and piling it up in a new location in order to find the cat and put him back inside. And that is what I did. Except after I had moved all the carpet from the deck, to a location on the back lawn about five feet from the deck, I still had not uncovered Zero. As I stood there, hands on hips, sweating profusely, considering my error, I also begain wondering how many neighbors were watching me, trying to guess just what the fuck their new neighbor was up too. After a brief pause I went back into the house and started checking all the cabinets and closets in every room. I think this was also the first time I checked the oven.

Zero of course was not in any cabinets or closets or even the oven. I went back outside and realized my error: when I moved the carpets from the living room to the back deck I had to reroll them in order to make them fit out onto the back deck. During the second move I did not have any space issues and so did not completely unfold or unroll all the carpets. Zero must be in one of the sections I did not completely undo. On my third moving-of-the-carpet-refuse, I was very careful to completely flaten out each section before dragging it in some random direction out onto the lawn away from the second pile (neatness being the first casualty of fatigue). I caught a break and dislodged Zero about half way through the second pile (this must be my Irish luck kicking in).

New problem. With all access in or out of the house shut off, Zero has nowhere to go and since he’s been building up a pretty big freak out from being dragged around in a pile of carpet for two hours, he’s now got legs. Like a dog chasing it’s tail without much thought on the goal: I ended up chasing Zero around my ranch style home like I was at a track meet. I think we made it around the house about fifteen times which I am going to call a mile. It was during this chase that I discovered our chain link fence does not have a gate on the West side of the house. Every time I made my way over this section of the fence I really appreciated all the times I watched Cops - there’s a right way and a wrong way to traverse a chain link fence and you can learn that from watching only a few episodes of Cops. I broke off the chase at some point when I did not actually seem to be chasing anything anymore. I walked around the house a couple times inspecting bushes, the under carriage of my car, trees, the roof and began scanning the yards of my neighbors.

I soon found Zero cowered and panting heavily under the small, rickety wooden porch at the front of my house. Out of arms reach, I spent the next fifteen minutes on my stomach trying to dislodge him using the following items: a piece of cardboard, a tape measure, harsh language and finally a broom handle. While using the broom handle I discovered that the small rickety porch was in fact not fastened to the home and easily moved out of the way. Zero was on the run again, this time a little slower.

Too exhasuted to chase him around the house anymore, I ended up using my brain to come up with a solution. I opened the back garage door and positioned myself out in the yard. On his next loop around the house he went in through the door without hesitation. Within minutes, using my new door opening technique, I had the cats back down in the basement, out of harms way. Or so I thought . . .

Next week: my trip to the animal hospital and an introduction to my neighbor, the transcendental vet.

Old house = walk in closets. New house = reach in closets. Going from 2000 square feet to 1300 appeals to my family for a variety of reasons except for the closet space issue. The solution was to add storage capacity to our reach in closets using a closet system. There are many available and the range in pricing is thousands of dollars. I decided to go with EasyClosets.com - there design tool was easy to use and the price seemed good but not too good (I have learned the hard way never to take the lowest bid).

I ordered two closet systems - one for each bedroom. They arrived within the week and required two trips by the UPS driver. By the way, the UPS driver let me know how cruel it was of me to order large quantities of anything that wasn’t presents for needy children during the weeks before Christmas. My bad.

On one hand I was alarmed at the amount of cardboard and packing materials I was faced with recycling and throwing out, on the other hand I was happy with how well everything was packed. Not a single chip or scratch on any of the hundreds of pieces. Twenty-three boxes total.

The first sign that EasyClosets.com was not named by their customers was the list of tools recommended for installation:

Yes, that is a hack saw. There are four other saws also shown. WTF? Five saws? What type of person owns all of those saws, yet is not capable of building a set of shelves and owns the pickup truck to get the materials themselves?

I spent twelve hours installing the closet in our bedroom. That’s two days of work (weekend - pffft). I still have another closet to install. Last night I was breaking a sweat sawing brushed nickel poles to the correct length for our four hanging rods. And if you’ve ever tried to hack your way through thick metal tubing then you will realize, as I did, that EasyClosets.com forgot something on their list of tools: a vice!

Anyway. They look nice at least. The drawers are full extension and the entire system is sturdy and takes weight without any give.

I wasn’t very gay in Seattle, or even Bainbridge Island. But since I’ve crossed East over the Cascades, I’ve become more gay apparently. First there was the incident in Wyoming, which wasn’t insulting or uncomfortable at all and resulted in the best food tip I’ve received in years.

Most recently though I was in Ottumwa visiting the Menards. “Menards” is Iowan for “Home Depot”. After strolling through the aisles at Menards for over an hour I left with a HEPA filter for my Shop Vac and went across the street to get the foot long treatment at Subway. While I was eating at this Subway, and recalling why I don’t usually eat at Subway, a group of four 18-20 year old boys came in and started lounging around the store. I think they were there to impress the young lady behind the counter but I’m not sure. Anyway, as I get up to leave the Subway it got really quiet. I approached the door and I notice in the reflection of the window that one of the boys is prancing around and flicking his hand out limp in some type of imitation of how gay people would lounge about a Subway shop. I crack the door open and then I hear it - “FAG!”

Next I did something unexpected. I turned and marched right over to the ‘kid’ that was prancing around and with the best glare I could muster through my yellow tinted lenses I said firmly, “what the fuck did you say?” The italicized fuck indicates the point at which I tilted my head. The kid’s mouth sagged quickly and he pointed to another kid and said, “I was talking to him.” Then silence. For me it was like I was living one of my favorite spaghetti westerns — I was playing the part of Clint Eastwood, those four boys were the dusty rabble and the young woman behind the counter and innocent town folk. I stood there and let my silent stare talk while everyone else in the Subway shop stood in shock, wondering what my next move would be. This lasted for about, um, two seconds until I realized I was not Clint Eastwood and at any moment everyone else in the room would realize that as well. I turned without showing any haste and walked through the door and crossed the parking lot with my hands firmly at the ready on my car keys.

As I pulled out in my Yellow VW and drove past the entrance to the Subway shop, the Sanrio character dangling from rear view mirror seemed larger than ever. I did not turn to look directly into the store but in my peripheral vision I could see them all still in the places I had left them in. One kid, the largest one, dressed in matching sports clothes and a crooked baseball cap, stared out towards my car with the most puzzling and anxious look I have ever seen. My departure was well timed.